


Confluence and Merging Paths

by namelessAmateur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry's Memories, More Detailed Magical System, Reincarnation, Tom's Memories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namelessAmateur/pseuds/namelessAmateur
Summary: From three, there was only one. Follows the story of Harry James Potter, from the moment of his births to the end of his adventure. (Please leave comments and criticism!)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Death

My life had not been one worth living.

Diagnosed at birth as immunodeficient, it had been made clear to my parents that I would need to be sheltered from the outside the world if I were to have any chance at long term survival. A warning that could not have been more apt, as only a few short months later, a rare genetic disease had reared its ugly head, rendering every single bone of my body brittle and effectively making me a cripple at the ripe old age of three months old.

To their credit, my parents had not abandoned me to my fate, but had opted instead to do their utmost in order to provide me as comfortable a lifestyle as my circumstances in life allowed, going as far as petitioning the hospital I resided in to provide me a computer and an eye tracker through which I could rudimentarily communicate with the outside world from my contamination room, as well as granting me access to a plethora of books, movies shows and online courses to occupy my time once I was of age to do so.

Despite all the limitations of my situation and regardless of the fact that I had not a single memory of ever setting foot outside the hospital or even having a single friend, my parents had implicated themselves fully in my upbringing, pushing me to try and get the most out of the cards I had been dealt in life, urging to always give it my all and do my best at all times, no matter how unfair I often felt my existence to be.

I credited them fully with the fact that I was already, as an eighteen years old teenager, halfway through an online five-years degree in computer science, offered by the local university, though I had to admit, it was much easier for me to find the time to be studious and productive when I had none of the numerous distractions that often accompanied the ability to move or socialize.

Silver linings and all that…

All things considered, it had come to a point where I had made my peace with the Universe and my place in it, fully determined, as I was, to leave a positive mark behind when my time finally came.

Which was why it was so simultaneously heartbreaking and infuriating for me when a blood vessel had suddenly and inexplicably exploded in the middle of the night, aggravating what should have been a simple nosebleed for anyone else in the world, into an agonizing ordeal, which had seen me slowly choking on my own blood, unable to do anything to prevent it and causing me to suffocate to death, alone as I drifted into darkness.

If I were to be honest with myself, I would admit being more disappointed than sad at the fact of finally dying. Death was not something I feared, and while I did not actively yearn for it, like I had so often done in my younger years or whenever I had spent time thinking on what kind of life awaited me. Nowadays, I did not feel like I had much to lose if it ever happened to me.

And yet, I could not help but find the timing of my death to be insulting, if not cruel. Had I known this would have been the extent of my life from the moment of my birth, I would have wished to have died on the spot, rather than put my parents through the almost two decades of suffering raising me had shown itself to be. A stillborn son would have been a devasting blow to their lives, but it paled in comparison to what they were sure to feel now, at the loss of their only child and the sequelae it would leave behind. Dying in my sleep was a terrible way for me to repay them for all the sacrifices they had done for my sake.

I could not ignore the pang of guilt plaguing my heart. In the end, my existence had truly been meaningless and only pain had come from my continued survival into the world. I was certain my family would have been much happier had I never been born.

Still, a part of me I loathed couldn't help but feel slightly relieved for my life to have come to an end, relieving me of the responsibility of moving forward and pretending I was happy.

In death, at least, there would be peace and I would be free of my worthless existence and the unnecessary worries that had followed every single moment of my wasted days.

Death, however, was not like anything I had expected it to be, now that I was taking the time to think about it.

I could feel neither hell nor heaven close by, and no demon had come to harvest my soul, nor had any angel appeared to judge me or the way I had acted in life, in fact, not even aliens were anywhere to be seen.

There was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I was floating, alone, in the void, unable to perceive a thing, blind, deaf and slowly being crushed by the emptiness and suffocating under weight of my own existence, as I lay motionless, paralyzed in the nether.

It was not a pleasant experience, and as time passed, I found myself slowly delving into panic; It would be an ironic and extremely cruel joke if in the end, this was all the afterlife had to offer, essentially condemning me to the same fate I had hoped to escape through my death for all of eternity.

With my rotten luck and the unfortunate way my life had gone so far, I would not be terribly shocked to learn this was all I would ever amount to, a prisoner of my own mind to the bitter end of times and it was with growing dread that I was starting to bitterly accept my fate.

Fortunately for me, however, it seemed destiny had finally taken pity on my miserable self, as my suffering was abruptly coming to an end and my salvation appeared in the form of a brilliant ray of red light, blinding me and throwing me into the unknown.


	2. Tom

Tom had always known himself to be special.

From a young age, he had realized himself to being different from his peers, and so did they. Unlike him, however, they did not find the fact particularly interesting, nor did they feel especially welcoming of him in their circles.

They had instinctively excluded him from their games, kept him at an arm's length from their conversations, ridiculed him whenever an opportunity presented itself, and overtime, bullied him away from their presence.

For the first few years of his life, Tom's life had been a lonely one and despite him not caring much for the others' approval or companionship, he had felt irritated at the lack of respect he was being shown daily by whom should have been his peers.

Luckily, his troubles showed themselves to be temporary ones, and as soon as he grew slightly older, things had started happening around him. Small inexplicable events that had only seemed to occur whenever he was involved.

It had started with Jack's chair falling under him after refusing to let Tom shower first one morning, before Oliver twisting his ankle after refusing to pass the ball to him in the afternoon and Lucas falling down the stairs minutes after calling him a pale weirdo that same evening…

Over the next few days, similar malfortunes seemed to plague whomever was irritating him at the time and he had quickly realized he was able to control whether those events happened or not and whom would be affected by them depending on his mood at that particular moment.

That day had revealed itself to be the most joyous one and Tom's short life and the boredom of his days had slightly abated as the boy had finally found a toy of his own to fill his time at the orphanage with a bit of enjoyment.

Pain truly was a great way to punish those that disrespected him and Tom had spent large amounts of his time inflicting it on those who earned his ire, but it was only after inflicting it repeatedly on his peers that he had sowed the fruits of his labor in the form of fear.

Fear, truly was the most delicious of emotions and the summum of human interaction. There was no bigger delicacy in Tom's life than noticing the slight trembling of Samuel's legs whenever he entered the same room as he was, or the sudden stuttering in Lucas' voice when he noticed him staring at him.

It was intoxicating and the feeling was one he enjoyed immensely, there was something quite invigorating in taking another's treasures and establishing himself as their superior. Being given what he was due was a joy of his new life, and the best part was that nobody would ever believe the boys, what proof did they had of their claims? Whom would the adults trust? Some orphans sprouting lies against one of their comrades they disliked, or perfect Tom, great student Tom, who preferred reading to playing and helped the matron around the house with a smile whenever she needed anything?

Things had been quite fun at the orphanage for him, and he enjoyed himself immensely for years, until that fateful day when a strange man had appeared, shattering his illusion of superiority.

Of course, deep down, part of him knew he should have felt grateful for Albus Dumbledore's visit at the orphanage, for letting him know about the wonders of magic and opening his eyes to the world of Wizarding Britain, but the reality was that he had immediately despised the man for showing him that he was not in fact special like he had thought he was for years, now.

The condescension of the man and the thinly veiled warning against theft at Hogwarts had rubbed Tom the wrong way, and the school teacher had seemed to take pleasure in humiliating the boy, going as far as likening him to another young man with the same disgustingly common first name as himself, working a mediocre job as a bartender.

The boy had seethed inside, but had kept a quiet and smiling façade, not forgetting the older man's parlor tricks making him reconsider his position in the food chain.

Still, once back at the orphanage in the comfort of solitude and with his textbooks in hand, Tom had put his head down and dived into his school texts, pulling his wands every few pages to try whatever was being explained or suggested in the book.

He was quickly disappointed to reach the end of his schooling materials and was confused by the fact. Hogwarts had been touted as the best magical school by the Transfiguration teacher, and yet, he had mastered every single one of the ten spells in the Charms book in a single week, despite being confident he could have done so even faster had he not been too tired to continue after a few casts each day. Transfiguration and Defense had gone similarly, and despite not having access to any ingredients, plants, or telescope, Tom was confident Herbology, Potions and Astronomy would have been done with just as quickly, while 'History of Magic Volume 1' had been worth exactly one single day of diligent reading.

It made no sense to the boy. Hogwarts was in session from September 1st, to June 30th every year, a duration of ten months, or about forty-three weeks, including holidays and other events at the school.

If he was able to learn the whole curriculum for all seven classes in seven weeks, what was the rest of the time wasted on? He could see doubling the amount of time required to learn in order to ensure the concepts were fully internalized, but allocating five times the time was excessive in his mind. Were witches and wizards slower in learning than he, an orphan whom had only recently learned about magic? Was he special after all?

It was with his head full of questions that Tom had made his way into the Hogwarts Express, simultaneously impressed by wizards' ability to hide amongst muggles, while at the same time being thoroughly irritated by the need to do so.

His first trip towards Hogwarts had been quite an interesting one, as he kept to himself, quietly listening to the conversations around him and observing how his peers behaved. He had not been sure of the powers the average wizard possessed and had therefore opted for a wait and see approach, offering his smiles and genial reactions to those surrounding him.

From what he heard, the Hogwarts curriculum truly was as empty as he had discovered it to be, though it apparently got progressively harder over the years, doubly so with the addition of supplementary classes. Unlike what he had expected, however, Magic was not a way of life for the citizens of Magical Britain. There was no true thirst for accomplishing miraculous feats, mastering new spells or researching new fields among his peers. Children would rather play and gossip than learn to change a toothpick into a needle, while adults worried more about money, fame and entertainment than more intellectual topics. Magic had lost its wonder for the average wizard and witch, relegating it to a commodity and for most of the citizens, their wand was a tool with which they brushed their teeth, cleaned the house, and washed dishes, rather than the door for unlimited potential it truly was.

Tom had been utterly disgusted by the small-mindedness of his fellow students, though it pleased him somewhat to know himself to be special even in a world of magical beings. He was determined to be exceptional and to leave a trace behind with the life he would live, which was why he had picked Slytherin as his house at the sorting, though the hat had been eager to place him there from the second it had been put down on his head.

Being a half-blood and sorted into Slytherin, as he soon discovered, had been a mistake. The house of snakes apparently did not take well to descendants of muddied blood as it had been made clear to him on the very first day of classes.

Miraculously, the boy had managed to keep silent through the whole intervention, not blinking, nor saying anything as the older boys made the rules of the house clear to him, though the next day had seen him be the earliest riser in all of Slytherin house, visiting both the library and the school grounds.

Over the next few days, a series of strange isolated incidents had happened and new directives had come from the older boys, urging his classmates to leave the half-blood alone. Coincidently, Tom had started becoming very proficient with the body-binding curse and the 'Serpensortia' spell, allowing him to conjure a friend with the flick of a wand.

It would only be a few weeks later that Tom would discover the joys of the silencing charm and the whole new world of entraining possibilities it afforded him to allow his playing mates to struggle, while simultaneously preventing any risk of them calling for help.

Still, with the much more accepting attitude of his fellow Slytherins, the boy was quickly establishing himself as a model student, academically brilliant while simultaneously polite and charming.

While still disappointed at the lack of rigor in Hogwarts' curriculum, Tom had to admit the slowness of classes had more benefits than he had expected, for there was much more nuance to magic than simply learning the spell, control was just an important aspect he had underestimated at first, but on which he had soon changed his opinion after seeing the kind of accidents that could occur whenever one played with powers he did not fully understand.

This restriction, however, had not prevented him from getting his hand on some of the older years textbooks and furthering his studies, though just like he had been warned he would, he hit a wall when it came to practical learning, as each spell took much more energy than he had at his disposition. Still, he had persevered and by the time the school year had come to an end, he was comfortably on the same level as a second year both from a theoretical and practical point of view.

The next few years had been some of Tom's best as he distanced himself further and further from his peers, taking pleasure in dominating them in all ways, and he established a solid network of acquaintances and becoming the center piece in many social groups across all ages.

Exactly, as he had been told it would, each scholar year was harder than the previous one, and he was only able to study the content of two regular Hogwarts years in the time allotted for one, and it was only at the end of his fourth year that Tom had completed all NEWT level courses offered at the school, leaving him with ample time to wander further in his magical studies into more secretive and darker subjects.

Legillimency, he had found to be the art of reading others' minds, a skill which should have taken years to master, but a task for which he had trained his own life for, delighting, as he had so often done, in the fear and suffering of others. Barely six months of intensive practice on some of his peers had seen him able to detect lies from all those sitting in front of him, though it was a skill he avoided showcasing in front of his teachers in fear of expulsion.

Rituals on the other hand were, as he soon discovered, a fascinating extension of everything he had been taught at Hogwarts, permitting a wizard or witch to gain powers and reach heights otherwise unavailable to them, but only if a price of equal value was paid.

The boy had been weary of playing with powers he did not fully comprehend and took almost a full year to study the concept before even thinking about applying it to himself, and even then, had picked the most benign one in order to attempt the procedure, sacrificing his ability to reproduce for the opportunity to pick his own animagus form, a Basilisk.

Following his success, Tom had delved deeper, exchanging his sense of taste for the ability of doubling his magical reserves, as well as a large tattoo on his back to eliminate his body's need for sleep.

His greatest leap, however, came on the very first lesson of potions in his sixth year, where his head of House and potions master, Horace Slughorn had put a vial of liquid luck up for grabs to whomever produced the best Draught of Living Death. The results were so predictable, Tom thought the man should have handed the potion to him at the start of class, rather than give his classmates any hope…

Still, that potion had proven itself invaluable as on his first use of it, Tom stumbled on the elusive Chamber of Secrets, which he had been looking for since first learning about the legend of Salazar Slytherin and his beast, which he had taken great pride in the fact he had correctly guessed the identity of the beast he had chosen for his own form.

More important than the chamber itself, however, his twelve hours of luck had allowed him to get his hand on Salazar's journals and learn about even better rituals and exchanges, some requiring to eat the beating heart of numerous magical creature to absorb some of their innate affinity to the powers of the Universe, though the most interesting one in Tom's mind was the Horcrux. A way to cheat death and assure his immortality. A way for him to ascend over the constraints of a mere mortal and give himself ample time to achieve whatever goal he might take a liking to over the years. Even better, the price for it was not one he would have to foot on his own, a human life was quite a cheap price to pay to achieve his goals, and the splitting of the soul, despite being painful was not something he concerned himself with.

Tom had studied the texts extensively, and only once he was sure of himself, had he sacrificed a mudblood girl to Slytherin's beast, marking her as his very first homicide and shedding part of his soul and memories into a diary he had bought himself over the previous summer.

The ritual had gone as expected and the pain, while terrible, was far from being unbearable for him, as he was prepared to suffer much more if it allowed him to separate himself even further from the mediocrity surrounding him.

Unfortunately, he had miscalculated, and everything almost collapsed for the boy; Not only had shedding part of his soul rendered him unable to transform anymore, making his very first ritual a waste of potential, but his beloved school had almost closed in the aftermath of the girl's death, forcing him to scramble and find a solution.

Thankfully, he had been able to frame that Gryffindor oaf Rubeus and his much too legged friend for the whole ordeal, even earning himself a medal for services rendered in the process.

Still, doing the Horcrux ritual at school had been a mistake and suspicion had arisen on himself, and Dumbledore keeping a close eye on him had meant the loss of any opportunity he might have had at using the Chamber of Secrets again while still a student.

Luckily, he had been quite busy in his seventh year, studying the possibility of achieving more than one Horcrux and ways to push himself even further from the average witch or wizard. Over time he had settled for the most magical number as an aim and seven horcruxes would be made, though he no longer wanted to put part of his soul in meaningless trinkets. He was the best, and his soul containers deserved to be in the most precious of objects.

His aims set, he had done his utmost, researching the Hogwarts founders and finding trails of each of their treasures, except for Gryffindor, whom had not valued material possessions much and whose sword has seemingly vanished from the surface of the Earth after his death.

Graduating as Head Boy, Tom had surprised many by turning down offers of employment from numerous departments of the Ministry, even snubbing some of his close classmates and teachers whom had selflessly offered him a position in their family businesses, but had instead opted for a dead-end job as a clerk of a small little shop at the entrance of Knockturn Alley.

For Tom, however, money was meaningless compared to the amount of information he could gain on the events of the magical underworld and some of the more illegal artifacts of the Magical society.

It had been there when one day, luck had smiled upon him and the opportunity had presented itself for him to Legillimence away the memory of the greatest duel of all time from the mind of a wandering French soldier.

What he had seen in that traumatized old man's mind had awakened an emotion he had not felt in a very long time; The memory had chilled him to the core, filling him with dread, leaving him shaking in his own boots.

Gellert Grindelwald was a monster of enormous proportions, weaving spell after spell, relentlessly destroying his enemies, conjuring a sea of clouds in the sky, darkening the world and hiding the sun, behind the cold aura of his magic.

His opponents' morale lowered, he would start his real attack, as rain would start falling down the battlefield, transforming each and every single one of the thousands of water droplets into thunderbolts, devastating the skulls of each and every one of his opponents, straight through their shields, and leaving pools of blood behind as he walked all over Europe's most powerful armies.

The feat on itself would have left a deep mark on Tom, but the fact it had only been the very first attack on a thirty minutes long duel had been what had impressed the boy most, for Gellert's enemy had not been like most of the Dark Lord's previous opponents.

Hogwarts' transfiguration master was a titan of his own right, conjuring a mountain out of nothing to defend himself and his allies from the lightning rain, before using his own breath to summon tornadoes to counter-attack from a distance.

The Austrian not surrendering a step in his advances had summoned a torrent of water to counter the strong winds, threatening to drown the enemy camp, but his British opponent had prevented him from doing so, erupting a volcano from his previously summoned mountain, solidifying the magma into a skillfully erected barrier, isolating the two duelist from the rest of their troops, in the hope of preventing needless causalities.

What had followed was a veritable deluge of spells and curses flying between the men, where every movement was both a defense against an oncoming attack and a counter-offensive, from the corrosive gasses to the shifts of temperature, ice lances, blackholes and gravity fields, while hundreds of Inferi and blood skeleton faced against golems and automatons.

The soldier from whose perspective Tom was watching the duel had not been present for the whole duration of it all, having had, like everyone else present to take his distances, to avoid losing consciousness in the midst of such raw magical energy on display, though it had been enough for all to see both men were of equal skill and it seemed both had realized that fact as soon after, Phoenix fire had clashed against Thunderbird lightning in a final clash.

For a long time, it had looked as both forces of nature would stand tall forever, equal in all things, but it was not to be, as abruptly as the duel had started, it had come to an end, leaving the ex-Durmstrang student unconscious in exhaustion, while a barely panting Albus Perceval Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was revealed to the world as being the unopposed strongest wizard of his era.

By the time he had left the man's memory, Tom was a trembling mess, feeling as if his whole world had been turned upside down. Once again, he had been the little boy being chastised by his future teacher for his misdeeds.

He had greatly misjudged his place in the food chain and in a world of titans and giants, he had thought himself superior for bullying literal children.

Disgusted with himself and more aware of the dangers his teacher presented to him with his newly acquired political positions, Tom had fled the country for the continent and dived head first into any ritual he could get his hands on, leaving caution behind, only focused on catching up to those he wished to see as his equals and inferiors in the future.

More and more, he was shedding his humanity, from his appearance to his calm, becoming more and more emotional, cruel and impulsive as his power and spell repertoire and the number of phylacteries grew.

Still, despite all his efforts, he knew himself to be weaker than Hogwarts' headmaster upon his return, as even after all his rituals and the countless sacrifices, tattoos, and all the beating hearts, both from creatures or fellow humans, he had eaten, he had found no source of magic greater than a cup of phoenix tears willingly given.

Desperate, he had gone to the man himself and under the guise of requesting employment, had attempted to gain the liquid from the same beast that had given him his wand, but the animal was a sensitive creature, and like all other phoenixes he had ever attempted approaching, had simply flamed away from his presence.

While somewhat disappointed, it had been a result he had expected, and Tom used the opportunity to hide Ravenclaw's diadem in the heart of the school, which he judged to be a sufficient consolation prize.

His goals set, Tom had returned to his former classmates, gaining their trust once again and presenting himself to them with his old nickname of Voldemort, though now with the knowledge of his descendance from Slytherin himself and the years of dark magic at his disposal, they were quick to pledge their allegiance to his cause against Dumbledore's rotten influence on wizarding society.

Carefully, he built himself a solid base all over pureblood households of Britain and with the support of some of his continental contacts, Lord Voldemort could start to move, marking his supporters for the cattle they were, and urging them to infiltrate all of society's institutions, preparing them for the war to come.

Things had been going well, his plans were succeeding, his supporters, aided by moles from the inside, were untouchable. Even that old fool Dumbledore seemed lost for what to do to stop him. His goals were becoming closer and closer to his grasp when that blasted prophecy had appeared.

A child that could defeat him was promised? No. It was not possible. Lord Voldemort was inevitable. He did not believe in such silly nonsense as prophecies… But would he take the risk? What if it truly happened? Why allow himself to fall to his own hubris. No. He would find that child and end them before it was too late.

Longbottom or Potter. Those were the two names. Both, equally unimportant families in the grand scheme of things, but it mattered little as he would end them both.

He had gone for the Potter boy, first, for sentimentality perhaps, a half-blood like himself, he could not allow one similar to his own potential to be born, after all…

Those brats had hidden, but Lord Voldemort had his way, a traitor in their own ranks had guided him directly to them.

The father had been easy, amusing even, trying to fight Lord Voldemort without a wand. What foolishness.

The mudblood on the other hand had been frustrating for him. He had given her her life, but she had not moved. His follower would not be happy, but what were promises for if not to be broken? He would find another way to reward young Severus.

He had ended her with the nonchalant flick of a wand. What was another mudblood among the dozen he had already rid the world of?

Happily, he had walked to the crying baby fearfully staring at him and a cruel smile appeared on his face.

No prophecy would be allowed to tarnish the legacy of Lord Voldemort.

He had leveled his wand at the boy's head and let out a laugh of victory. This was the end. He would be forever invincible.

It would be so sweet to see hope leave Dumbledore's face whenever he dangled the boy's death in front of him. Oh, how he would laugh.

Taking pleasure in the innocence he could see in the boy's eyes; he whispered the two words that would guarantee his victory forever.

'Avada Kedavra!'

He was still smiling when the green light filled his vision and overtook his world.


End file.
